Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs
by The Evilest Girl Scout
Summary: Before Harry there was another story. Was Remus ever afraid of his werewolf form? Did Sirius struggle with his feelings about his family? Why did Peter betray his friends? Was James’s life really as perfect as everyone thought it was?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Sadly, this is not really mine, in which case it is not published.

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

**August 1972**

That time of year again, Albus Dumbledore thought as he sat.

"That time of year again," said the painting.

"Yes, thank you, Dippet, I am aware," Dumbledore said calmly. The sheets of parchment with names of eligible students lay out in front of him.

The choice for Head Boy would not be hard, Dumbledore knew. James Potter was the brightest wizard of his age Dumbledore had ever seen. His power rivaled what Tom Riddle and Dumbledore himself had had at that age. James was a natural leader. He had never been a prefect, but Dumbledore felt he was an excellent candidate for the job. Times like this, the old man thought, his eyes sparkling, we need a few pranks and fun every once in a while. Dumbledore tucked his cloud-colored beard under the desk and circled "Potter, James Winston" on the parchment.

"Forgive me, Headmaster, for this may be rude," the painting Dippet said. "I do respect you, Dumbledore, and your decisions, but I couldn't help but notice that you seen to be appointing one of the biggest trouble-makers in Hogwarts history as Head Boy."

"You are correct, Mr. Dippet."

"Of course, I'm not trying to interfere in any way, but Mr. Potter's grades must be lacking, considering the circumstances –"

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore interrupted, "is one of the brightest wizards I have ever met. His O.W.L. scores placed him far above the rest of his class."

The picture seemed surprised at this, and Dumbledore smiled inwardly. As much as he respected Dippet, he disliked him; the two had been rivals at school (rather like Serverus Snape and James, Dumbledore thought fondly.)

"I just wondered," Dippet's picture said, "whether you wanted to consider the appointment further."

"And to whom do you propose I appoint the post other than James Potter?"

"I was thinking someone from my old house, perhaps." Then, after a pause, "Serverus Snape."

"Mr. Snape is quite a bright boy. Sadly, he lacks certain leadership qualities it is mandatory a Head Boy posses. I am sure you can attest to that, Mr. Dippet."

Dippet's painting sniffed disdainfully and stormed out of the portrait.

Left in peace now, Dumbledore pulled the parchment of eligible Head Girls closer to him and pushed his half-moon spectacles up on his nose. The choice would pose a challenge.

Autumn Pherson, the Ravenclaw prefect, was very smart, but quiet, and far too serious to work with James. Hannah Wendlyn from Hufflepuff – again, not the required spirit. Dumbledore could not think of any Slytherin girl who would work well with James, or, the headmaster thought sadly, who would protect the school in dark times as any Head Girl should.

And then, Albus Dumbledore saw it: a flash of red hair, an emerald green eye. A pretty girl, but not the most beautiful, intelligent, but not the top of her class. A good witch, but not incredibly powerful. He'd seen smarter witches she, taught people who had mastered spells much more quickly than she did, glanced hopefully at prettier girls in his youth. But something clicked on the parchment, and the name jumped out at him. From the middle of the pack, she was noticeable. The Gryffindor prefect – a fiery temper, hair to match, a spunky spirit and emerald green eyes, she could lead a group and was respected by the general student body. But would she listen to James?

Lily Evans hated James Potter – anyone could see that. But what was seeing? Dumbledore had been one of the few to notice that after James had saved Mr. Snape's life Miss Evans had gotten off James's case for a while, as if she respected him for saving an enemy. Granted, Dumbledore did have a bit of Seer blood in him, and the fact that one Harry James Potter with black hair that wouldn't lay flat and bright emerald green eyes would be passing through Hogwarts doors in approximately 19 years meant nothing to the bearded man, of course.

Blue eyes twinkling, Albus Dumbledore circled "Evans, Lily Rebecca" on the parchment, slid his half-moon spectacles off his crooked nose and said good-night to Fawks.

**A/N: PLEASE REVIEW!**


	2. Welcome to Hogwarts

A/N: now we're going back in time, to the Marauders' sorting. The rest will be chronological, but I won't go through all 7 years.

Disclaimer: JKR owns everything.

**Chapter 2: Welcome to Hogwarts**

**September 1966**

_Padfoot_

September the 1st, 1966 was supposed to be a good day. "The first day of the rest of your life," my mother had told me. I was due to start Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and, like the rest of my family, join the Slytherin House and later support and/or serve the rising-to-power Dark Lord. I'd always been told what I wanted and I'd always assumed I would never want anything more.

On the morning of the first day of the rest of my life a white light hit my temple, pulling me out of deep sleep.

"Get up!" my mother said in my ear, tucking her wand back in her robes.

I groaned, rolled over and fell out of bed. "Great," I mumbled. I sat up and smacked my forehead against the bottom of the bed. "Really," I thought to myself, crawling out from under the bed and falling through loose floorboards underneath it, "what a perfect way to start the first day of the rest of my life."

Squinting in my bedroom's bright overhead light, I stood up and scowled darkly at my snickering brother Regulus.

"Breakfast!" Mother called us. I chased Regulus downstairs.

"Sirius," Father said.

I stopped, running into Regulus. "Yes, Sir?"

"Sit down. I've laid out some guidelines for you while you're at school."

"Great." I lounged on the table, let my hair fall over my eyes and stuck my feet up.

"Sirius," Mother warned me. "You know I don't like that." I rolled my eyes and slammed my feet back on the floor as Regulus smirked.

"First and foremost," Father continued, frowning, "I expect you to get into Slytherin. Second, do not under any circumstances associate with a Potter – blood traitors, the lot of them – and third, there will be consequences if I hear about any pranks or detentions."

"Slytherin, no Potters and no pranks," I repeated. "Got it."

In truth, I didn't understand. I didn't want to get into Slytherin like the rest of my family – but I supposed I probably would, since I was a Black. I didn't know any Potters, but I wasn't sure if what my father had told me about them was true – after all, Dale Potter _was_ the Minister of Magic – that had to count for something. I loved pranks, and I didn't know if I could survive a year without them.

Besides, if Mother and Father told me not to prank, I would prank. If they told me not to associate with a Potter under any circumstances, I would associate with every Potter I could find under every circumstance. And if my parents told me to get into Slytherin, then, Merlin, I would do everything in my power to get into any house _but_ Slytherin.

_Prongs_

"Come on, Honey, get up."

I groaned. "Now?"

"Yes, now. Today's your first day of school."

"School?" I shot out of bed and Mum laughed.

"Yes, school. Go down and eat some breakfast."

I ran downstairs where my dad was sitting at the dining room table and one of our house elves, Marley, was serving breakfast.

"Master James," Marley squeaked. "Would Master James like breakfast?"

"Yeah, thanks, Marley."

He tottered out of the room to the kitchen in the basement of our mansion.

"Morning, Jay," After asking how my sleep had been, if I had enjoyed my summer and so forth, my dad took a more serious tone. "Your first day of school. Congratulations, son."

"Thanks." I didn't mention the hated nickname.

"Starting tomorrow you will learn to be a proper wizard."

"Hm." Marley had come back with breakfast ("Marley has Master James's food!") and I was inhaling eggs and bacon with my feet stuck up on the chair next to me. Dad frowned.

"Emphasis on proper," said Mum, coming into the room.

"Jay," my dad said. "School is serious business. Under no circumstances are you to play pranks as I know you love to do at the parties your mother and I hold."

"But –"

"No pranks," my parents said at the same time.

"Okay," I put up my hands in mock defeat. "Don't kill me."

"I have friends everywhere who will tell me if you misbehave," Dad said. "I have spies; I am the Minister of Magic."

"Really," I replied sarcastically. "I had no idea."

I was incredibly glad to get away from my dad. At home I was always an afterthought – at international parties or meetings I was introduced as "the Minister's son." At school I was James Potter. I was well-liked, intelligent, powerful, and one of Hogwarts' infamous Marauders. And nobody called me Jay. At school, I was not constantly being compared to the Minister of Magic.

_Moony_

The full moon had always scared my father. I used to wake up in the middle of the night when I was little and there was my dad sitting at the kitchen table and staring at the sky, the blue eyes I inherited from him clear and round. "My mother died on the full moon," he used to tell me. "Clawed to death by a crazy werewolf." He'd shudder then, and pull his big sheepskin robe tighter around his shoulders. That was the only thing Dad was ever afraid of – werewolves. I was nine years old when I got bitten. My dad left that night, a fear in his eyes I had never seen before – a fear that was directed towards me.

On the morning of September 1st, 1966 I woke before my mother. I sat in bed, reading the letter for the 112th time. By now I'd had it memorized.

_Dear Mr. Lupin,_ it read. _I and the rest of the Hogwarts staff are fully aware of your, shall we say, "condition." You are, of course, still eligible to attend Hogwarts School if you wish; I am currently working on a potential place for you to reside in once a month. I am afraid no one will be allowed to stay in this place with you until daylight, simply to consider the safety of all other students. At daylight precisely, Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, will escort you to the hospital wing and proceed with the necessary medical precautions, depending upon your condition at that particular time. Come September 5__th__, the first full moon of your Hogwarts career, your monthly residence will be prepared. On September 4__th__, please come to my office, on the top floor, behind the gargoyle. (Password: pumpkin pasty – one of my favorites) and I will speak with you about the particulars of your "condition" and the staff's decision to accommodate it. I hope you are having an excellent summer. Hogwarts is looking forward to welcoming you as part of its student body. Most sincerely, Albus Dumbledore_

Despite Mr. Dumbledore's reassuring words, I was deathly afraid of attending school with my "condition." For nine years, I'd grown up with a man afraid of everything that had to do with the full moon. Who was to say that everyone else at Hogwarts wouldn't be afraid of me too?

But I was going. No matter who was afraid of me, or who knew about me, I was going to one of the best wizarding schools in the world. I had been given a chance I had always thought I would never be given, and I would be damned if I let anyone, especially Dumbledore, down.

_Lily_

Bright sunlight woke me half an hour before my alarm clock went off on September 1st. Running my tongue along my teeth, I pretended that the day was just a normal day. "Maybe it is normal," I thought to myself. "Maybe I'm not a witch. Maybe it's a joke – just like Petunia told me. Maybe I am kidding myself to think that I might belong somewhere."

I rolled out of bed and tumbled into the kitchen downstairs, greeted by a figure in a bright pink bathrobe and matching fluffy slippers, who happened to be my sister. I snorted and slid into a chair.

"Lily, you really must stop wearing men's underwear to bed," Petunia said in disgust.

I looked down at my plaid boxers and mocked, "Petunia, you really must stop wearing lacey pink and yellow nightgowns to bed."

Petunia growled in her throat and I stirred my tea in satisfaction.

"Do you still believe that joke that you're a _witch_?" Petunia laughed out loud.

"Sod off," I muttered.

"Lily, I told you I will not allow profanity in this house," my mother said, coming into the kitchen.

"Meh," I mumbled.

"'Meh' is _not_ a word, Lily," Petunia informed me.

"I know that, Tuna. It's called a noise."

My older sister's voice had a jealous tone to it, and I couldn't understand why. I had always been the one jealous of her, for her blond hair as opposed to the orange fire that graced the top of my head, for her looks in general, whereas I had always been gawky and heads taller than everyone my age. It's hard to remain invisible when half your torso can be seen in a crowd. So I had been teased, because I was awkward, and made odd things happen, now making me think that the letter hadn't been a joke, because I could never explain the things I did unless by magic.

"So," Petunia started, her voice again full of the strange jealousy, "Lily's moving away from home at age 11." 

"She's not _moving away from home_," Mum said quickly. "She'll come back for Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur, and Hanukah and Passover, right, Lily?"

"'Course," I told her. Under my breath I added, "I wish we were Christian. Christian kids get presents in spring, too."

"Life isn't all about presents, Lil," Mum sighed. "Judaism is our _belief_."

"That's right it is," Dad came into the kitchen and kissed the four of us on the tops of our heads. "And while we're on the subject, who's making breakfast? Petty? Lils?"

"I have a special breakfast planned for today," Mum smiled.

"That's my Christine." Dad kissed her on the mouth and I turned away and stuck my tongue out in disgust.

"Lily, you are so childish," Petunia said. "Everyone kisses."

"Ug."

"'Ug' is _not_ –"

"Ok, Tuna, I know it's not a word. Lay off it," I snapped.

"Relax, everyone," Dad said. "Don't worry, be happy." Dad started singing an off-tune Bobby McFerrin, and everyone groaned.

The double doors opened, revealing Professor McGonagall and a new batch of first year students, and Dumbledore smiled, thinking of their future graduation day. They were new witches and wizards with new dreams, goals and expectations, and Dumbledore knew, perhaps more than anyone, that each and every one of them had the potential to achieve them. Save Dumbledore, no one else could know that they were far more than their name.

"Berg, Alana!"

"Gryffindor!"

"Black, Narcissa!"

"Slytherin!"

_Padfoot_

Of course. Narcissa would please her family and mine. But I knew I was next. This was it: my one and only chance to please or disappoint my family. If I had my choice, it would be the latter.

"Black, Sirius!"

I sauntered to the stool, my confidence level decreasing as the hat slid over my eyes, belittling me. The anticipated voice sounded in my ear.

"Not like your family, are you?"

You could say that.

"No, you are not power-hungry. However, you are quite talented, and loyal."

Thank you.

"But you are too much of a rebel for Hufflepuff. You're brave enough to defend your friends. You really don't want to please your family, do you?"

No, not really. No.

"Yes, you are quite the rebel. In that case, it better be GRYFFINDOR!"

I couldn't help myself from grinning as McGonagall pulled the sorting hat from my head. Turning towards the Slytherin table, I could see my cousins Bellatrix and Narcissa glaring and Andromeda with her jaw on the floor. I waved to them and strode to the opposite end of the hall in delightful anticipation of the howler I would soon be receiving from my parental units.

Dumbledore smiled to himself, as "Black, Sirius!" was sorted into Gryffindor. One who can someday help the fight against the rest of them, he thought. He turned his attention back toward the sorting, part of which he had missed.

_Lily_

I was shaking. Literally shaking. Why, I had no idea. I had no expectations – none whatsoever, other than those I had given myself. Why, then, was I nervous? I didn't know any of the houses' reputations, though, looking at them, the Slytherins didn't look like an overly friendly bunch. All I had to do was put a hat on my head. That was the test that would decide my future. I was still confused as to how putting a hat on top of my hair could do this.

"Evans, Lily!"

Taking a deep breath, I stepped up to the stool and the cloth hat was placed over my eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for the small voice that began talking in my ear. "Let's see here." I jumped a foot in the air, amidst voices of the students on the other end of the hat mumbling, "muggle born." The voice in my ear (I assumed it was the hat itself, though this was a completely absurd idea) said the same words.

"Muggle born, so you wouldn't do well in Slytherin. No, you wouldn't quite fit into Hufflepuff – you're too spirited, spunky, and sassy."

I smiled to myself, having been called this plenty of times before.

"You're intelligent, but look at this: pride, courage, self-confidence, a sense of what is right and what is wrong. It looks like there's only one place for you – GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindors looked like a fun lot, and hopefully I would finally fit in.

The awkward, orange-haired girl turned toward the Gryffindor table, and Dumbledore had a flash of a 17-year-old woman, wavy, auburn hair and piercing green eyes. He smiled, knowing she would hate the teasing of "carrot" and "fire-head," but knowing also that it would make her stronger, and would cease once she finally turned into a swan.

_Moony_

My eyes turned toward Dumbledore, who was looking at "Evans, Lily!" with a small smile on his face. I desperately hoped that the smile would be directed towards me in a few minutes. With that thought, I realized that my sorting was, in fact, only a few minutes away, if that. I knew why I was so nervous. Boys have always wanted to please their fathers, but I doubted any of them wanted to please his more than I did mine. And even though I knew in the back of my mind that my father wouldn't care what house I got into, that to him, I would always be a monster no matter how much I succeeded, I desperately tried to make myself believe that he did care. If only I could get into Hufflepuff, my father's old house, he would come back.

"Lupin, Remus!"

Deep breathing, I listened for the hat's voice as it was placed over my ears.

"So you're the one everyone is talking about. You don't seem like a monster to me – just scared like everyone else."

My whole body tensed. If even the hat knew about my "condition" how many others did?

"You have a great longing to make yourself someone. Extremely intelligent and a very high work ethic, you could do very well in Ravenclaw."

Stiffening, I knew that with his son in Ravenclaw, my father would never return.

"But what's this? – A bit of a rebellious and mischievous streak. Behind all this you like to have fun but you're scared to bring it out too much. I could change that, if you like. Yes, I think you would do very well in GRYFFINDOR!"

I was stunned. I had assured myself that I could get into Hufflepuff if I wanted it enough. I took the hat off my head myself, not even waiting for the professor to do so, and tried to walk calmly to the clapping Gryffindor table without even glancing at the Hufflepuffs. They really didn't want a werewolf in their midst. No one did. Hell, I didn't even want a werewolf, and I _was_ one. My father would never want me. He had always talked about "those trouble making Gryffindors." Now his son would be one. My father would never come home.

Remus didn't notice Dumbledore's eyes on his back. The old man frowned at the boy's obvious dissapointment. Remus Lupin had been the most anticipated first year among the staff this year, and he was obviously disappointed in the hat's choice. But Dumbledore had faith that the hat had made the right choice. After all, it had come from Godric Gryffindor himself. Sighing, Dumbledore turned towards the rest of the first years, where "Morgan, Morgan!" was being sorted into Ravenclaw.

_Wormtail_

There were two letters until Pettigrew. I didn't care much what house I was in; I knew my parents would support me no matter what. Still, I was nervous, as usual. I always seemed to be nervous, and I could never figure out why. I didn't know what house I wanted, but looking at their respective tables, I noticed the Slytherins' furrowed brows and glares (not somewhere I belonged, I hoped), the Hufflepuffs' kind faces (not too bad), the Ravenclaws' attentive eyes (a bit too serious for my liking), and the Gryffindors' whispers and laughs (a good place for having fun.) I would take Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, but would either of them take me?

"Pettigrew, Peter!"

I prepared myself, but was so tense that I tripped up the stairs to the stool amidst laughter, my face beet red. I listened to the hat.

"A difficult one, you are. Very difficult…we can rule out Ravenclaw as you're not very intelligent."

I sniffed, trying to remember that I hadn't really wanted to be in Ravenclaw, anyway.

"Hufflepuff perhaps – you could do well in Hufflepuff, though it's hard to see where your loyalties lie. Maybe that wouldn't be such a good match for you. I can see that your loyalties are very easily turned."

Of course – one of the houses I would take would not take me.

"You have a longing to make yourself someone but you're scared to try to find someone who can do that for you in case you find out that no one can. A very great thirst for power and you can be cunning and tricky when you want to be – you would do well in Slytherin."

Yes, Slytherin with the frowns and furrowed brows. This would be a perfect match for me. I prayed that the hat would change its mind.

"You're not incredibly brave or proud, but maybe that's because no one has ever given you a reason to be proud. The length you would go to defend your friends is a bit murky. Gryffindor might not be the best place for you, but it's hard to tell. I think you would do very well in Slytherin. No – I'm sensing a negative on that one. You've always wanted to be brave and I think if someone gives you the chance you could be proud. Slytherin gives you what you already have, but Gryffindor lets you try something new. Perhaps I'll give you a chance with something new. You've always wanted a chance to make a new name for yourself, haven't you? Here it is. Do with it what you will. Good luck. GRYFFINDOR!"

I couldn't believe it. Something had chosen me. I couldn't hide the smile on my face as I crossed to the red table. I knew my parents would be proud.

The Pettigrew boy looked happy, Dumbledore saw. He knew the boy's parents would be proud. Satisfied his gaze turned to the next first year in line. Of course, he thought, Dale and Lydia's son. Dumbledore's seer blood told him that the Potter boy would only do good things.

_Prongs_

My turn was next, I knew it. My parents knew the Pettigrews – perhaps their son and I would be friends. But I was likely to get into Ravenclaw, being a Potter. I could only imagine my parents' disappointment if I didn't get into the house every single Potter in history had ever gotten into. But looking over at the studious Ravenclaws, a few of the oldest ones my cousins, I realized I was sick of everything being so serious. Variety is the spice of life, I thought, and those kids really needed some spice. I didn't especially want to join them. I could even make Potter history – the first person in the family to not get into Ravenclaw. But I wasn't too sure. I would probably get into the family house.

"Potter, James!"

I placed a grin on my mouth and stepped up to the stool. "Hi," I greeted Professor McGonagall, a friend of my parents. She nodded curtly (she had never been extremely kind) and dropped the cloth hat over my head.

"Pride, courage, mischievousness – GRYFFINDOR!"

That was fast. Me, just changing Potter history in the blink of an eye. I started to walk jauntily to the cheering Gryffindor table when a voice caught my attention.

"Good luck with your parents, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said out of the corner of her mouth.

"Thanks," I muttered back, only then remembering that McGonagall herself was head of my new house.

Dumbledore gave a bit of a smirk, rare for the old man, as he watched the perhaps overly-confident James Potter take his seat. The boy would have a few problems with his family in terms of his housing arrangements, but not nearly as many as Sirius Black would. Dumbledore knew that both of them could do great, great things.


	3. The Marauders' Map

Disclaimer: All belongs to the lovely and incredibly talented J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter 3: The Marauder's Map**

**November 1968**

_Wormtail_

"Messrs. Remus, Peter, Sirius and James," Sirius read off the spare bit of parchment. "We need nicknames or something. This is boring."

"We'll get in more trouble if people know our names," Remus put in.

"Like a code name?" I asked.

"Yeah," Sirius nodded. "So people will never know, or in any case not be able to prove, who we are. Something to do with our animagus."

"But we can't even transform yet," said James. "On second thought, _you_ guys can't," he boasted.

"We know you're powerful, mate," Sirius sighed. "Get over yourself."

James scowled.

"Okay," Sirius continued. "Remus, you're first. Moonbeam?" Sirius smirked.

"No way," Remus retorted. "It sounds like a girl's pet name for her dolly."

"Exactly."

"Don't make me bite you."

"No, I've got it." Sirius paused for dramatic effect, then said in a dark whisper, "Moony."

"Brilliant!" Remus exclaimed. "It's perfect! For Peter? A rat…." He thought about it for a minute.

I wanted a brilliant name too. I didn't know what they'd pick for me. Who would give a stupid, chubby Marauder sidekick a code name? Apparently Remus would.

"Wormtail," he said after a while, and I let my breath out.

Wormtail. It fit me. A rat's name, but a bit more than that. Maybe it was just a rat's name on the outside, like I was just a Marauder sidekick on the outside, but if you looked closer, there may have been something else, something more than the rat or the sidekick. Or at least I wanted there to be.

"Wormtail. Nice one," James complimented him. "Sirius?"

"Padfoot," Sirius said at once.

"Beautiful. Now me."

"Wow, you're a tough one, mate," Sirius told James. He crossed his legs on the bed, closed his eyes and placed his index fingers on both of his temples. "Stag…stag…stag…"

"You look like you're bloody meditating," James told him.

"Shhh!" Sirius whispered. "I'm connecting with your inner stag!"

"Bambi?" Remus suggested with a smile. We all stared at him blankly.

"Bambi?" Sirius was disgusted. "What the hell is that?"

"Sorry," Remus said quickly. "Muggle humor."

"Muggle humor's never funny," James mumbled. Sirius replaced his fingers and continued his chant.

A stag, I thought. That _was_ a tough one. It had to be just right; it couldn't sound too much like a deer. It had to be powerful, smart, loyal, passionate – everything James was.

"Prongs," James murmured, staring off into space.

Sirius was jerked out of meditation, astounded by his friend's brilliance. "We have the makings of a fine stag, gents. Good work, my friend. Now, the Marauder's Map!" he exclaimed with a flourish. "Who wants to write it?"

"Sirius has the best handwriting," James commented, indifferently.

"A statement of my own heart." Sirius gave a satisfied sigh grabbed a quill out of his bag and handsomely flicked his shaggy hair out of his eyes. In curly, neat, formal handwriting he wrote:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs_

"Much better," he drawled. "What else?"

"Describe us," Remus told him. "What are we, by making this map?"

"The makers of an aid to future trouble-makers," James said thoughtfully. "Purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers!"

"That, my friend, is beautiful," said Sirius, and commenced to write.

"Are proud to present," I put in. Sirius wrote again, then read:

"'Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, are proud to present the Marauder's Map.'"

"Hey," James said suddenly. "Why am I last?"

"Deflate your head a bit," Sirius joked. James threw a pillow at him.

The cabinet was shaking. "Cabinets aren't supposed to shake, are they?" I ask Remus. He looks at me funnily and says, "No."

"Who can tell me what is in this cabinet?" Professor Crowell asked.

Something that moves.

Remus raises his hand. "A boggart, Sir."

What in the name of Merlin is a boggart? The question is answered as Professor Crowell stands in front of the cabinet, opens it by magic, and releases a rat. So in animagus form I'm a boggart. Wouldn't it be easier to just call it a rat? The word has fewer syllables.

"Does a boggart always take the form of a rat?" Crowell demands.

Remus doesn't bother raising his hand; he's the only one who will answer the question. "It takes the form of whatever you fear most."

"Correct. Mr. Pettigrew, if you will please stand in front of the cabinet, point your wand at the boggart and say the word 'riddiculus'."

Why me? Crowell always picks me. He knows that I don't know what to do.

"Come on, up to the front, Pettigrew."

I trip on my robes and a snicker swims through the classroom like a wave. Remus steadies me. I stand in front of the rat and suddenly it becomes a pale white wizard with slits for eyes and red pupils – the thing people are now calling Lord Voldemort. I freeze. I can't see anything but those eyes, red and small, but deadly. I completely forget the incantation I am supposed to say; all I can think about is how painful my death will be if I don't do exactly what this wizard wants.

Voldemort is a rat again and I turn, facing Professor Crowell, to a classroom full of white, terrified students. "I'm sorry, Pettigrew," Crowell says. "I had no idea…"

"S'okay," I murmer.

"Mr. Lupin, please, next."

Remus, without tripping, walks to the front of the wardrobe and I gasp. The rat is a werewolf. But this is not just any werewolf. It's Remus's werewolf. Remus is staring at himself, in werewolf form. "Riddiculus!" Remus shouts, but nothing happens. He looks to Crowell for help.

"Make it less frightening," the professor tells him.

But Remus cannot make the thing he turns into less frightening. "I can't," he says, something Remus John Lupin has never, ever said to anyone. "It can't be less frightening." Remus's eyes are full of terror, a thing I have never seen in them. Remus is afraid of something he cannot get rid of.

A split second and the werewolf is back to a rat and back in the cabinet, and Remus is shaking.

**A/N: I know Remus's boggart is a full moon in the book. It will work out, I promise. REVIEW!!!**


	4. Evans

A/N: I'm terribly sorry it's been so long, but the college applications are done!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing, and therefore, also sadly, I am more than slightly broke.

**Chapter 4: Evans**

**December 1970**

_Prongs_

"Excuse me, you're in my way."

I turned to look into a pair of the brightest green eyes I had ever seen. I stared at this orange-haired girl. Odd, I thought, that the first girl who didn't seem to be impressed my looks or talent would be rather unattractive.

"Sorry?" I ran a hand through my hair.

She raised her eyebrows. "You're in my way."

"Just hexing some first years," I grinned, regaining my normal million-watt smile. "Carry on." I stepped out of her way, but she didn't move.

"Hexing first years? Can I ask why?"

"Because I want to." I flashed my most heart-melting smirk.

"You do realize you're a prat, right?"

A prat? No one had ever called me a prat before.

"Not really." I messed up my hair again and the girl hit me with the leg-locker curse. "Hey!" I yelped. "Why'd you do that?"

"Because I wanted to," she retorted, striding past me before I could notice her witty sarcasm.

"Oy, Prongs – what was _that_?" Sirius called from the opposite end of the hallway with Remus and Peter right behind him. They got over to me, Remus performed the leg-locker counter-curse and we trudged up the staircase to Muggle Studies.

"Some girl just called me a prat!" I exclaimed.

"A girl?" Peter asked.

"No, a whale," I replied.

"Hogwarts has whales? Where? Aren't they dangerous? How do they fit through the door?" Peter asked, his eyes wide. Sirius snorted and Remus elbowed him in the stomach.

"I'm kidding, Peter. Yes, a girl. She's in our year and house and we have classes with her, I think, but I don't know her name."

"I saw her," Sirius said. "Lily Evans, 5th year Gryffindor, muggleborn, orange hair, green eyes, smart and fairly talented, not pretty or popular – she's kind of unnoticed, obviously, best class is Charms, when she gets out of school she wants to be a curse breaker at the Ministry of Magic, she's also good at Potions and Slughorn loves her, she's a member of the Slug Club – you _should _know her, Prongs – pet peeves are arrogant people, weak handshakes, and people who blame their bad mood on PMS, best friends with Mundungus Fletcher and Pearl Scout in Ravenclaw; she's Gryffindor prefect – you should know her too, Moony, and she has a hell of a temper."

Remus, Peter and I stared at Sirius.

"Why is it," said Remus, "that you know everything about a random girl in the hall when you failed your History of Magic final last year because you couldn't remember the names of any of the goblins?"

"It's called selective memory, mate."

Peter unsuccessfully tried to hold back a most unflattering snort.

"I dare you to date her."

"Who?"

"Evans. I dare you to date Lily Evans."

"What?"

"You're always bragging about how you've never turned down a dare," Sirius smirked. "I dare you to date her. Ask her out. No girl can refuse a Marauder. Then make her life miserable. Make her wish she'd never laid eyes on you. Make her wish she'd never been born. Make her see that nobody hexes a Marauder without paying for it."

I sat straight up on the bed. Maybe Sirius was right. It was payback time. I grinned. I'd teach her. I would teach this Eva or Elena or whatever her name was – I would make this girl see that nobody hexed James Potter.

"It won't work," Remus said.

"Shut up, Moony," said Sirius. "'Course it will."

"Who says she'll want date you? Sirius said she has a hell of a temper."

I looked at Remus like he was insane. "Of course she'll want to date me. Everyone wants to date me."

"Humble much?" Remus muttered.

I shot him a glare.

"Time to break out the old Potter Charm, my friend," Sirius said, slamming me on the back and bringing me to my knees.

"Oi, Evans." She didn't turn around. That _was_ her name, right? "Oi, Evans!" I yelled a little louder. Maybe she hadn't heard me? "OI, EVANS!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. The entire student body turned to stare at me.

"What do you want, Potter?" Her voice was half amused at my outburst.

I inwardly grinned. She knew my name. But of course she knew my name. I was the Minister of Magic's son, and Marauder extraordinaire. Hell, even the _Daily Prophet _knew my name. "How've you been?" I asked her.

"Not too horribly." Her tone was civil and I smirked. She wouldn't be able refuse me.

"What are you doing for Christmas this year?" I asked her, trying to be conversational.

"I'm Jewish."

"Oh." Come on, Potter, I told myself. Keep smiling, don't loose the charm – she can't refuse you. "Hanukah then?"

"Is there something you want, Potter?"

"Yeah, actually there is." I ran a hand through my hair and those shockingly green eyes narrowed. "Do you want to go out with me?" I asked her casually.

"What?" She looked frightened at the prospect and I frowned a bit. "You want _me_ to go out with _you_?"

"Well, yeah, that was the idea." I deepened my voice. Much more masculine and appealing, right?

"But – I hexed you."

"I'll forgive you. So, will you? Go out with me?"

"Sorry, Potter. I'll let you know when I'm desperate."

She was already out of my sight before I realized what had happed (she'd been doing that a lot lately, hadn't she? I noticed).

A girl had refused to go out with me. No girl had ever refused me before. But _she_ had. This Evans girl had refused me. A girl who wasn't even popular had refused me. In front of an entire student body, who currently happened to be staring after her, dumb struck. As much as I hated it, I respected her for it. She wouldn't date just any old bloke who happened to march her way. I made a vow then and there that I would do whatever it took to be more than any old bloke who happened to march in Evans's direction. I wasn't even thinking about the dare. Evans was my challenge and I happened to love a challenge.

"How'd it go?" Sirius asked me once I was back in the dorm room. Noticing my overcast look he added, "Not too well, eh?"

I glared at him.

"Ooh, was Mr. Prongs finally turned down by a girl?"

"Sod off."

"No need to get all huffy with me." He looked slightly put out. "It's not my fault Evans doesn't want to date you."

I glared again.

"You should find something out about her," Remus said, ever the practical Marauder. "Besides the fact that she doesn't want to date you, I mean." He had the nerve to smirk. The kid was as bad as Sirius. "The fact that you don't know her may be somewhat related to why she won't date you."

"She doesn't celebrate Christmas," I said dully.

"Doesn't celebrate Christmas?" Sirius yelped. "What do you mean she doesn't celebrate Christmas? How can you not celebrate Christmas?"

"She's Jewish," I explained.

"Jewish," Sirius repeated. "No presents? No Christmas puddings? No Christmas pies or pork or ham? No cranberry sauce? No Christmas pranks? No mistletoe? How does she survive?" Sirius fell back on the couch.

"I think you're being a bit melodramatic, Padfoot," Peter laughed.

"Do you even know what 'melodramatic' means, Wormtail?" Sirius asked with a smirk. Peter turned red and bit his cheek.

"Lay off him, Sirius," Remus told him.

After a pause Sirius said, "I'll add something to this dare and make it a bet."

I raised my head off my hands. "What's that?"

"If you get Evans to date you by the end of the week I'll give you 30 galleons and profess my undying love to McGonagall in front of the whole school."

Peter gasped and Remus said with a snort, "Now _that_ is tempting."

"If Evans _doesn't_ date you by the end of the week," Sirius continued, "you pay _me_ 30 galleons and profess _your_ undying love to McGonagall in front of the whole school. Deal?"

I paused. "Deal."

"So, Potter, darling, are you ready?"

"I hate you."

"You should hate Evans, not me."

"Sirius, you're drunk," Remus stated.

"I'm always drunk, love."

"Eurg," Peter said.

"You _did_ promise, James," said Remus.

"Of course I did. Anyway, it'll get people laughing." I thought about it for a moment. "Maybe Evans will want to date me after she sees!"

"Why on earth would Evans want to go out with you after you professed your undying love to McGonagall?" Remus asked.

"Yeah," added Sirius, "maybe it's just me, but that might be kind of a turn-off. Hey, there she is! You're on! Merlin, I can't wait to watch this."

As always, I was ready for the laughs. Jumping out of my chair, I ran up to the staff table. "Professor," I said, breathlessly, "Professor, I simply _must_ tell you something." I watched McGonagall's eyebrows raise and noticed Sirius' giddy, silent laughter out of the corner of my eye.

"Well, Potter, what is it?"

The hall was silent. I bent down on one knee.

"I love you! I'm sorry, darling, but I simply _had_ to let you know. I couldn't have gone on if you didn't know. I might have _killed_ myself if you didn't know that I loved you! Really, I truly, truly love you, Professor."

The hall burst into laughter. Mission: accomplished.

"That will be a detention, Potter."

"Will the detention be with you, dear Professor? If I could see your beautiful face, all the world would have a reason to exist!"

"Potter."

"Yes, my love?"

"That's enough."

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	5. The Sad Addition

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing. I do it for fun, not money (though I do desperately need it).

A/N: Chapter dedicated to my very good friend, The Melancholy Dane, who came up with the metabolism bit.

**Chapter 5: The Sad Addition**

**March 1971**

_Prongs_

A lady at Dad's work was pregnant. I wouldn't have noticed if my father had not been the one to do it. 

She was puffy, bloated and not nearly as beautiful as my mother, my father's wife. Mum was heartbroken. She could not even cry, and I had never seen her hurt that badly before. She had thought that Dad loved her. I had thought that Dad loved her. Dad said, "Lydia, I promise I love you," and Mum turned away. It was scary, and I never wanted it to happen to me.

And something I possibly should have expected, considering the woman I knew my mother to be, but had never thought of: Mum called for divorce.

The sad thing was, my father really did love her, and only I could see it. I don't know why he had the affair. He didn't know why he had the affair. It was spur-of-the-moment. He hardly knew what he was doing. He couldn't keep his pants zipped.

But he loved my mum to death – I could see it. It killed him to hurt her.

And she loved him. He was killing her.

But she couldn't do it; be with someone who had been with someone else while they were still married. It wasn't in her nature. She almost wished that it was, so she could be with him. But she couldn't. Maybe those few weeks before the divorce she tried to change her nature, so he could remain her husband.

But that was only what I'd learned from my parents' faces. There was probably more.

I was lucky my friends were always there. With the three of them, I could never be lonely.

"Here, James, have some chocolate," Remus offered, the four of us being in our room at school. "It really helps." I took the brown bar and felt it go hot in my mouth. It really did help. Remus took a large chunk for himself as well.

"Remus," stated an obviously jealous Sirius, looking at his friend's thin form, "your metabolism astounds me."

"Do you want some?" Remus offered, his mouth full.

"No, thank you. I really shouldn't."

Instead, Peter grabbed the candy and stuck it in his mouth, wiping brown globs across his face. I laughed in spite of my family's predicament.

"Hey!" Sirius exclaimed. "It worked! We got poor little Jamie to laugh!"

"Ha, ha, ha," came my sarcastic response.

"And again!"

Remus took control. "Sirius, please shut up."

"Right away, sir."

They made me feel better when they acted stupid and immature. How could immaturity not make someone feel better? It certainly worked wonders on me. I could realize that, even though my parents were getting divorced and my father had impregnated a random woman, life might still have a little goodness left for me. I had three incredible friends who would die for me, and for whom I would die.

I had thought everything could turn out well. Then the baby came.

She was pink, fat, soft and small.

"Your new sister, Jay," my father said, looking over at me. "Patricia and I have named her Sarah Emilie." Patricia. My father's new wife. Sarah Emilie. My father's new daughter. My half-sister. This tiny, small thing tore my family apart, was all I could think, looking at her.

But something was odd about the baby. Her neck was short, her ears and mouth were proportionately small on her strangely flat face. "Down Syndrome," one of the healers muttered to another.

"What?" my father snapped. "Down syndrome?" His face went a little white. His new wife started to cry and he went to comfort her. "Can't you do anything about it? You're wizards."

"I'm sorry, Sir. There's nothing we can do."

Patricia cried harder and my father's arms tightened around her. Sarah Emilie mocked her mother, her own face going red and balling into fists. One healer picked her up and waved her around, in front of Dad's and Patricia's faces. They did not see their child. But I saw her, my half-sister, the own Potter blood.

I took the girl from the healer's hands. My sister…with Down Syndrome. But it shouldn't have mattered. It didn't matter to me then.

Once Dad and Patricia came out of shock it didn't matter to them either.

But for those first few moments of Sarah Emilie Potter's life, I was the only one there watching over her. Her big brother. And I knew then that if anyone ever did anything to hurt her, I would be so angry I wouldn't be able to stand it.

**REVIEWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Reviews actually mean more to me than putting the story on a favorite or alert list.**


	6. Effects of the Moon

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Chapter 6: Effects of the Moon**

**May 1972**

_Moony_

It's coming closer – I can feel it, like a sixth sense. I can tell when it's coming. I wonder if that happens to everyone like me.

This time, more than any other before, I'm scared someone will find out. That they'll tell. That I'll hurt them. Intuition, I guess. I can feel that something is going to go wrong this time.

I don't know what to feel about myself. I don't know what I want to feel about myself. I hate it that I don't know. Shouldn't I know? Doesn't everyone know?

I feel detached – because this happened to me. I feel like nobody knows who I really am, and they don't, because I can hide it. People like this, with this _thing_ inside them – I think we all feel detached, rejected. Don't we? I've never met anyone who has this – this thing inside them that they hate.

Even though I couldn't have prevented it, I feel that it should be my fault. That I should have gotten out of the way, or that I should have known that people like that really existed, not just in stories. I hate it that I feel like it's my fault, because inside I know it's not, but I can't stop myself from thinking that if it hadn't been for me, it never would have happened.

But it's not my fault. If I could go back I wouldn't be able to change anything. Even though I would desperately want to.

I am afraid of it, and it's inside me. It's my boggart – this thing that traps itself inside, without an invitation. My boggart. I hate that the thing I fear most in the world is inside. No one else is afraid of what's inside them, are they? Only people like me – because we can't control what we do when the thing takes over us. That's the part that scares me – not being able to control the wanting. It scares me that something that normally hides will take over my body and hurt any human flesh it smells, and I am powerless to stop it. I don't want it there. I wish I could take the thing out and smash it into a thousand tiny pieces and scatter them – everywhere but close to me – and get it out, so it would never exist anymore. But I can't. I know I can't. I can never make it happen. But I wish so badly that I could. More than anything in the world, I want it out – gone, away. I never want to see it again. But, of course, I can't see it. If I can't see it I can't conquer it.

I'll kill the person who did it. Kill him. On one of the nights when it happens I would probably recognize his smell. I want him to pay for what he's done to me.

He probably already does. He goes through…_this_…all the time. I hope it hurts him. Badly. But then it would hurt me badly. We are the same – that person and I, with the same monster living inside us. I don't want to be the same as him. I don't want to have anything in common with the man who took everything away from me. But I do. I'm like him. I _am_ him. On those nights, when it happens, I _will be_ him. I can't change it, and that scares me. I don't want it. I want it least in the world out of everything – to be anything close to him. But with this on the inside, we are the same. The Same.

It will never be gone. It will always live inside me – us. Haunting. Forever. It's forever, and that scares me, too. Forever – the word – so…final. Binding. I will be this forever.

I don't want to know what it's like to be something I don't want to even exist, something everyone is afraid of, including myself, to have that thing inside of me. I hate that I know what it's like.

I wish it didn't hurt. I wish I could curl up in a ball and let it happen and then have it over with. I don't want to have to think about it. I don't want to remember what it felt like. I want it to be here and gone. Every month. Why does it have to happen over and over? Could it just be once?

And most people make fun of it. Howling. It's not funny – because I won't be able to control the howling. It won't be me, just…_something_ inside me. Like a feeling that happens and you don't know what it is, you can't control yourself and you want to so badly, but you just…can't, because your body won't let you.

I hate it – being that thing. The monster that isn't me but is inside me – caught – and I can't control it. I hate it.

I haven't written the word yet – never said it out loud since it happened. Writing makes things too final.

But I hate being that _thing_, that monster. I hate that it controls me, and makes me do things I don't want – smell my own blood and need to drink it so badly that…I do. I tore my own flesh off last time. I transformed into this _thing_ and tried to eat myself because I couldn't find anyone else. I hate it. I hate it that I hate what is inside of me, but I have to hate it, because if I don't it means _I_ am controlling the flesh-eating monster, maybe that I almost want it to be there. Because then it _would_ be my fault. I can hate being the monster now, because I can't control it. If I could control it I couldn't hate it, because I would be making it happen.

I hate it that my boggart is inside myself. I cannot get rid of it. My boggart cannot be less frightening.

But, somehow, I can tell tonight is going to be different. Maybe it's the wolf inside me that has intuition.

What is Serverus Snape doing?

It's starting now. It hurts.


	7. What if?

Disclaimer: it's not mine

Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K. Rowling. The song belongs to Coldplay.

**Chapter 7: What if?**

**May 1972**

_Padfoot_

_What if there was no life? Nothing wrong, nothing right? What if there was no time and no reason or rhyme? What if you should decide that you don't want me there by your side, that you don't want me there in your life?_

"Can I see Remus?" I asked her.

"He's asleep – don't be loud, Mr. Black." Madame Pomfrey looked at me skeptically.

Standing by his bed, I was scared. James said he'd told him what I'd done (as I supposed was okay with me; I didn't know how I could have done it myself, but he needed to know), and I wasn't sure how Remus would react. What if he didn't _want_ me to be his friend anymore?

I had really screwed this up; that much I knew. There was a good chance Remus would hate me for the rest of his life. I'd messed him up. James had been the noble one that night. James was always the noble one. He'd saved Snape's life and now I could see why. Because Snape was a person, and as much as James had done it for Remus he had also done it for Snape. Maybe because he thought, being a person, Snape deserved at least a little respect. I knew that as much as I didn't like him – as much as I hated him – I didn't really want him dead.

I'd been the stupid one. I'd been the one who'd nearly killed Snape and made one of my best friends a murderer. And the worst part was, I didn't even know why. It was just a stupid prank. I didn't even know why.

_What if I got it wrong, and no poet or song could put right what I got wrong, or make you feel I belong. What if you should decide that you don't want me there by your side, that you don't want me there in your life?_

I had got it wrong. And I didn't know anything I could do or say or anything anyone else could do or say that could make it better.

I didn't expect Remus to forgive me. I didn't know how he ever could. All I knew was that, right now, I wanted Remus's trust more than anything else in the world, and I couldn't think of one possible way I could earn it.

_Every step that you take could be your biggest mistake. It could bend or it could break. That's the risk that you take._

I'd never done anything so stupid in my life. Because I, Sirius Black, was supposed to be the good-natured, loyal friend. I was the humor behind the marauders, Remus being the intelligence, Peter the innocence, and James the magic. They were all doing their jobs. But, currently, I wasn't lightening the mood, or holding the four of us together. For once in my life, I, Sirius Black, was tearing things apart. And it hurt, to think that I was hurting my three best friends in the world. That, most likely, they would never be able to trust me again.

And it scared me that I didn't see why they would. It scared me that I couldn't tryst myself anymore to do the right thing. My stupid brain had not had a thought process that night. I wasn't thinking. I knew that I didn't want Snape dead. Maybe I didn't even hate him.

And James had been the noble one. James had been the one to save him, earning everyone's good graces…not that he didn't have them already.

I, Sirius Black, was fallible. My best friend, James Potter, was apparently infallible. It was enough that he was naturally intelligent, strong, powerful, funny, and head boy. But now he had to be noble, too, and purely _good_. And was about to get the girl of his dreams. Because maybe James hadn't noticed himself, but I had certainly noticed. Lily Evans was starting to fall for him.

But, for now, looking at his thin, sunken face on the hospital wing pillow, it was Remus I was concerned about.

_What if you should decide that you don't want me there in your life, that you don't want me there by your side?_

I couldn't do anything. Nothing I could do would make it better. _What if I got it wrong, and no poet or song could put right what I got wrong, or make you feel I belong?_ It wasn't even human, what I had done. So it could never be put right.

Unless…I knew Remus was uncommonly forgiving. If he knew how badly I felt that I had hurt him, that I was hurting because I had hurt him…would he forgive? Could he?

_Let's take a breath, jump over the side. How can you know it when you don't even try?_


	8. Can't Stop Thinking

Author's Note: Yes, I do know that the dates do not fit with Rowling's idea

Author's Note: Yes, I do know that the dates do not fit with Rowling's idea. The story is very slightly AU. I just pictured James and Lily as a bit older when they got married.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, it's not mine.

**Chapter 8: Can't Stop Thinking**

**August 1972**

The summer between sixth and seventh year Lily Evans knows she is changing. Her sister is getting married next week, she broke up with Fabian Prewett two days ago, her parents are fighting loudly downstairs, and she is questioning love. With her arms folded under her head and her chin tipped into the sunlight, Lily is lying in bed awake in the morning before she has the courage to conquer the stairs and meet her parents' dulcet tones.

"Stupid hormones," she mutters aloud to herself. She is thinking about a dream including a certain handsome, tall, dark-haired, hazel-eyed boy by the name of James Potter. Lily doesn't know why she's thinking about this boy now – doesn't know why she's thinking about him at all. She had thought she hated James Potter. That is, until this past year when he had saved Serverus Snape's life. Saved an enemy's life because he was a person and no matter how much he wasn't liked he didn't deserve to…die. Saved Snape's life because it was the right thing to do. Lily didn't think he'd had it in him.

Maybe, Lily thinks, he isn't as stuck-up as I thought he was. Maybe he's better than he seems. If he wasn't, maybe I wouldn't be thinking about him. I'm confusing myself. Stupid Potter boy. Man. He's 17 now. Maybe he's gown up. He's different; he's not an arrogant little berk anymore.

She gets out of bed and pulls her thick auburn hair back into a loose ponytail. "Why can't I stop thinking about him?" she says aloud to the mirror on her dresser. "Maybe it's me who's changing. Maybe Potter is the same. No, he can't be. He saved Snape's life. He can't be the same."

Try as she might, Lily cannot get the messy dark hair, soft hazel eyes and handsome figure out of her mind. "What is wrong with me?" her head screams."I can't fall for bloody Potter!" But she is. She is and she knows it, but she doesn't know why. They are opposites. She will never date anyone like him. They won't fit together. They can't fit together. Still, she can't stop thinking about him.

Downstairs now and blocking out her parents' screams, she sees the letter on the table. Lily opens it and a head badge falls out. She stares at it, wondering what Dumbledore was smoking when he made the head assignments. Lily is an average student. She failed her Divination O.W.L. and sleeps through History of Magic. "I can't be Head Girl!" Still, she rubs the badge on her shirt and smiles. She wonders who the Head Boy is. Maybe he'll take her mind off James Potter.

Sirius Black has never liked his family. They are evil. They think the wrong things, they have the wrong ideas. And so Sirius hates them. He wants to hate them. He cannot let himself love everything his family stands for – everything that is so wrong. If he even tries to accept it he is cheating his classmates, his friends. He is cheating himself.

But, somehow, in the very recesses of his mind, Sirius loves them. He _loves_ them. How could he do that to his classmates, to his friends? How could he do that to himself? Why does he love the people who stand for what he hates?

He wishes human nature did not include innate tendencies to love one's parents. With all his heart, Sirius wishes he could hate them. He doesn't want to be with them; he doesn't want to associate with them.

Still, he would sacrifice himself for them. He would kill anyone who hurt them. Because that was what Sirius felt for the people he loved. He felt it for his friends – and, without wanting to, he felt it for his family.

It may be worse that they love him as well, only because of human nature. Sirius does not want anyone who supports ideas he is so against to love him. He does not want them to love him, because that makes it okay for him to love them. If it is not okay to love, he will have an excuse to hate.

Since, in this world, it is okay to love one's child, and one's parents, Sirius has no excuse to hate them. He wants to, desperately. For Lily and the other muggle born people his parents have wronged, and for James, Remus, and Peter. For himself, he wants to hate them.

So Sirius decides he will try to get out of this dilemma. He pushes his love deep, deep down inside him, so it will never surface again. He embraces his hate for everyone prejudice against non-pure bloods. And Sirius will never admit to _anyone_ (not even James) that he ever loved his parents at all.

Somehow Remus Lupin can't convince himself that he hates Sirius. He's tried. All summer he's tried. He's tried to tell himself that Sirius is stupid, hateful, a horrible friend. But then a picture of Sirius pops into his head and the laughing, warm black eyes and almost messy hair melts Remus into knowing that all Sirius did was make a mistake. And Sirius, after all, is only human.

Remus doesn't want to forgive his friend. He knows he should and he knows he will, but he wishes sometimes that he wasn't always the quiet, kind, forgiving one. Remus wishes that every once in a while he could just be…mean. But he knows it will never happen. Because the next time he sees Sirius he knows he will forgive him, just like he always does. Even if he doesn't want to. Because Sirius is his friend, and somewhere, deep inside him, Remus knows that Sirius must be feeling _awful_ about what he did. He remembers the day in the hospital. The face he turned away from because he couldn't handle seeing hurt in Sirius Black's face. Nobody hurt Sirius Black. Nobody. At Hogwarts, Sirius Black was invincible. And Remus hated that Sirius now had to realize that he wasn't. Remus couldn't hurt his friend. He wouldn't do it. He knew how badly it would hurt both of them if Remus didn't forgive.

Because Remus cannot stop thinking about his friend. And no matter how hard he tries he will never stop thinking about him. Remus will forgive him.

Attempting to tell himself to finally give up, James Potter knows that is not what he does. He can't, not on her golden red hair, not on the green, green eyes he wishes he could swim in, not on the sassy temper she will never let go of, or her charming, cheeky personality that had even old man Slughorn couldn't resist.

All his life he had been taught by his ambitious parents to strive, that if you loved something hard enough you could have it. Does he not love Lily hard enough? Does she need someone who really cares about her? But James _does_ care about Lily Evans; that much he knows. But she does not, and that kills him – that she thinks he is the kind of man who wants her only as another notch on the bedpost – this kills him.

He folds his hands under his head, laying on the bed at his father's house, trying to remember exactly what his parents had told him about perseverance, and whether or not they had specified how far to take it. They themselves had not gotten very far with it, had they? His father had been found in bed with another woman (though James is the only one in the world who knows that his father is still desperately in love with his ex-wife). His mother had called for divorce. And if there was anything in the world James Potter hated most, it was his parents' act of tearing his family apart.

James wonders if he took the perseverance thing too far. If the asking her out week after week was a turn-off for Lily.

He is scared of rejection from her this time, which he promises will be his last. There are no other chances for James Potter. This, something he has never had to be used to, scares him. He might mess it up, he realizes. And if he does, he will give up.

This is why Lily Evans scares him: because he needs her to feel good about himself. He has never needed anyone before like he needs her. And rejection from this particular woman would rip his heart to pieces.

He doesn't know anymore if he wants her to really know him. At least now he can contrast her rejections with the security that if she did know him she would love him. But if she knew him, knew him and still hated him…for the first time in his life, James Potter would hate himself as well. He hates that he depends on her, because that makes him weak, he knows. He hates it that a woman has made him weak.

His father's beaming face, filled with pride, greets James at the staircase. He holds out the letter, and James takes it, and sees the badge. Though he isn't sure he is exactly the kind of person Hogwarts wants to hold the badge, he knows by the madly happy look on his father's face that the title will earn him respect.

Lily Evans would never date the arrogant prick of a boy, Potter. But could she love the man, Head Boy?

With an increasing inferiority complex, Peter Pettigrew sits on a stone in his parents' garden. Not even here does he belong. So far he has not belonged anywhere. His friends may have tried to boost his self-esteem, but have obviously failed, his self-image having been formed at the beginning of first year by a hat. Now he cannot stop thinking about that hat, the way it defined him, and the way it forced him to define himself.

A hard-hearted world, the hat lives in, judging people at age eleven. For some it had worked well. For Peter it had not. He does not know which house he should have been in. Perhaps he shouldn't have been at Hogwarts at all.

He is not a Gryffindor. He is a coward, and the opposite of proud.

His house should obviously not be Ravenclaw; Peter has always been far from intelligent.

He wants his match to be Hufflepuff, but the hat had said, _the length you would go to defend your friends is a bit murky._ Yet he desperately wants to be loyal and honest.

Peter does not want to have a character that allows him to be a potential Slytherin. James and Sirius say Slytherins are ugly and mean. But the hat has told him he has ambition and cunning. _You can be cunning and tricky when you want to be._

Peter wants to abolish the Slytherin qualities from himself and send them all to the end of the earth. He wants to replace them with Hufflepuff qualities. He wants to be what he is not, and wants to kill what he is. He does not want to allow Gryffindor to let him try something new, as the hat told him to want. He wants to fit in…somewhere. He cannot know where, because he has never known the feeling.

So Peter's new goal is to be wanted. More than anything in the world he wants someone to need him and needs someone to want him. And Peter will take the first offer he has to fit in.

Each night this summer he has remembered Potter's flashing eyes. Potter loved Black, Serverus Snape knows, and he probably always will. But that hadn't stopped him from saving Snape's life.

"You are indebted to him, Mr. Snape," Dumbledore had told him. Serverus doesn't want to be indebted to James Potter – a boy who has everything Serverus has always wanted.

This is why he despises James Potter. Because he is smart without having to work for it, because his family loves him, because he has money, honor, courage and dignity, because he is handsome, charismatic, funny and charming. Because Lily Evans, though she has yet to discover this as well, is in love with him.

But Serverus would rather die than admit that he is jealous of James Potter. He will _never_ admit that James Potter is better than him. It's no wonder Lily Evans loves him. Lily Evans will never love Serverus, he knows, because Serverus is not nearly as good as James Potter.

So why did Serverus have to think about James Potter? Only because now he is sure the Gryffindor is better than him. Serverus had never saved anyone's life, and it would kill him inside if he had to save Potter's. _Perhaps he'll die before I can save him,_ Serverus thinks, hopefully, then returns to reality. _I will still be indebted to him. I will have to find some other way._

Serverus feels his forearm burn, looks down to the brightly-colored dark mark, and apparates to the Dark Lord's side. He hates that he is a death eater, because it is pointless. There is no intellect involved – only vengeance and racism. Serverus hates it because it makes him weak. And because, yet again, it proves that James Potter is better than Serverus.

**Author's Note: Please, please, please review. Although adding me as an alert or favorite means a lot to me, reviewing means so much more. Wherever you are on the loved it/hated it spectrum, please TELL ME, AND TELL ME WHY!!**


	9. We Came, We Saw, We Conquered

Disclaimer: Not mine

Disclaimer: Not mine.

**Chapter 9: We Came, We Saw, We Conquered**

**June 1973**

_Padfoot_

I couldn't believe Dumbledore wanted me. Me. To be in his organization – the Order of the Phoenix. That felt good, to be recognized as someone who could hold his own against the Death Eaters, and against his dark family.

I could make a name for myself, and Dumbledore knew it. Now I knew it too, because Dumbledore did. And once everyone found out what I was doing, I would no longer be "the eldest Black boy" and evil because my family was. I was going to do good things, and prove that I was not a traitor, or a death eater.

I was going to prove that I was a good person.

It helped that James, Remus and Peter got into the Order as well. We could do it together, make names for ourselves. All of us needed to and all of us knew we needed to.

"You will be putting your life on the line," Dumbledore had told us. The four of us nodded. We already knew it.

Of course it was dangerous to go against Voldemort. But we were prepared. I had been preparing to do exactly that for all of my Hogwarts years.

At first, it was because I had thought of myself as a rebel. I had never particularly liked my family. I had always wanted to go against their wishes, to prove…something. But I could no longer remember what it was.

I wanted to do it to do good for people. I wanted to save somebody's life. At this point, I wouldn't care if I was different from my parents or not, simply for the sake of being different. I wanted to be a good person.

This was how Hogwarts had changed me. Contrary to popular belief, I was maturing. I didn't care much for myself anymore; my ego was deflating, however slowly. That night with Remus and Snape had made me see it too. There was more to life than popularity. I had taken that too far, and I vowed I would never take anything too far again.

It had been hard for me, to admit that I had been wrong. But it had to be done, and I had done it. Though it had felt bad, in a strange way it now felt good.

I was growing up.

Maybe, for now, Dumbledore and I were the only ones who could see it. Maybe James, Remus, and Peter could too, but I couldn't be sure.

But I did know one thing. Whatever happened with this Order thing, I would make it work for me.

As cheesy as it sounded, I wanted make the world a better place.

_Wormtail_

I couldn't believe Voldemort wanted me. Me. To be in his organization – the Death Eaters.

"I have gained inside information that Albus Dumbledore has also asked you to join him," the Dark Lord said.

I nodded, feebly. I glanced at the abnormally long wand Voldemort held.

"Spy for me," he said. "You _will_ spy for me. I think you can do at least that. And if you can't…." He fingered his wand lovingly.

I nodded. "I will spy."

"Good, Wormtail."

I didn't ask how he knew that name. I didn't want to know.

I knew Voldemort was evil. It had always been taught to me. My parents, members of this new Order of the Phoenix, and Dumbledore's close friends, had told me. Everyone had told me. Voldemort was evil.

But I had seen the fear he gave them all. Even James was afraid of him.

And as good as all the rest of them were, not one of them had proper faith in me.

But the Dark Lord did. The Dark Lord knew what I could do. Not even the sorting hat had known that I could be cunning and tricky _all the time._ It wasn't only when I wanted it. Because right now, I didn't know if I wanted to spy. But I was going to. I was going to be cunning and tricky whether I wanted it or not. To save my life, and to save myself.

I wasn't like the rest of them. I was not willing to sacrifice myself for someone else. Maybe I was weak. Maybe I was strong.

Maybe it didn't matter.

But I knew this: Voldemort was my final chance. I had one more shot at making myself someone, and I was going to sit by and watch _another_ change slip by me. I was going to take this one when it came at me.

I would not let myself die without having influenced someone.

_Prongs_

It was a good motto, for graduation that year. The motto the four of us had picked out ourselves. No one knew it yet, but they soon would.

All four of us had been asked to be in Dumbledore's organization against Voldemort. And Lily. All five of us had accepted.

I knew it was juvenile, thinking about Lily, wanting to be with her even after graduation, but I couldn't help it. I wanted her. I needed her. I wanted to need her, and needed to want her. It was a shame she didn't know it.

But I could feel that she was at least starting to like me. I couldn't be sure, but…at the beginning of the year she had been more accepting. Granted, she had been shocked, angry even, that Dumbledore had made me Head Boy. But she had learnt to accept it. Maybe she even now thought it was a good choice.

But we were all about to graduate. It was a moment of celebration, and I realized that I should stop moping. Maybe it was okay that I would never have her. But maybe I still had a chance.

Before the last supper, I stood with the other marauders in the doorway to the Great Hall, taking in every bit. I couldn't get over how sad it was to be leaving forever. I watched the younger students chatter about their summer plans, talk with people they wouldn't see over the next few months, eat as much of the amazing food as possible. They would be coming back. But I would not. I had never considered how much it would actually hurt.

"Are you guys ready?" Sirius asked. He was probably the worst off of all of us, Hogwarts having been his real home.

"Sure," we said. A final prank, quite literally leaving with a bang. But we had decided that this prank would only be so much of a prank for the teachers. We were done being naughty little boys…almost.

We took our seats as Dumbledore stood up. The hall went quiet, only a few whispers gracing the air. "My students," he began. We looked at one another, the marauders, sending the cue that the plan was about to be set in motion. "Let me begin my saying thank you for a wonderful year," Dumbledore said. "Many of you" (his eyes gestured towards the lined-up and slightly nervous seventh years) "have waited for this moment all your lives. For some, it is simply anther year. Whatever your position, each of you has the potential for a sparkling future."

"Sparking?" Remus whispered, snorting. "That sounds so…"

"Girly," Sirius said.

"Right."

"Shut up," I told them. "We need to concentrate."

Dumbledore was still speaking. "I especially extend my thanks to our dear heads: Miss Lily Evans and Mr. James Potter." Polite applause. Lily and I stood up, and she smiled at me. Smiled!

"Prongs, please sit down," Sirius snickered.

I had been still standing, slightly shell-shocked that Lily had flashed a grin in my direction. She gave a small smirk as I sat.

Dumbledore went on: "Lastly, many thanks to all professors." Remus coughed and I felt for the end of my wand. "Their outstanding intelligence and desire to teach the next generation is matched only by their ability to control a class."

I flicked my wand, which produced the desired results.

Dumbledore's voice went out, and a sign above his head appeared, reading, "A class, maybe, but are you sure they can control US?"

Sirius' and Remus' wands moved together, fireworks and confetti appearing in the air. The younger kids squealed, the older ones laughing. People started jumping up, grabbing confetti and streamers. Dumbledore had given up talking, watching the entertainment with a twitch in his mouth. The other professors looked less than amused.

The confetti was still falling when Peter attempted a firework. A miniscule "pop" went off, about the size of a toad, and Peter's face turned red. Remus, Sirius and I laughed, making sure he knew his efforts were appreciated.

"PRONGS!" Sirius yelled over the noise. "DON'T FORGET THE FINISHING TOUCH!"

I couldn't believe he thought I would actually _forget_ the best part. Shaking my head, I raised my wand high into the air, where a message appeared.

"We Came, We Saw, We Conquered. Remember us, Hogwarts! With love, the Marauders"

I looked over and Lily was looking back at me, smiling and laughing. It may have been the best day of my life.

_Moony_

The prank had gone well. It may have been our best. It was, at least, our nicest. But now, it was all business. We had a small break while chairs were set up and parents allowed in to watch their sons and daughters graduate. Sirius was arguing with his mother. James had told us he was going to ask Lily out one last time. Peter had told me he was going to spy on them and report back immediately how Lily rejected him this time. I was in the common room, alone.

A small trunk in the corner had caught my attention, and I was currently staring at it. It jiggled, then stopped. It could only be one thing. A boggart.

I hated boggarts. Since my first encounter with them, I had steered clear of any and all I could avoid. I had not seen one since then, but I would never forget what it had looked like.

Me. It had been me, inside. I was afraid of myself.

I opened the trunk, and watched myself come out.

_That_ was me. Was that me? Was it? It didn't look like me. It didn't act like me. It didn't think like me. It didn't think at all. It was what I turned into once a month. Was that me? Was I something I could not control?

The werewolf had no personality. No thought process. It wasn't even animal. Not human, either. It was…nothing. A bite. Nothing. _It was not me. I was not it._ It was inside me, but it did not belong to me, and I did not belong to it. It was nothing.

I, Remus John Lupin, was not a werewolf.

Suddenly, the boggart in front of me was no longer a werewolf. It was changing itself. My worst fear was changing, because I was no longer a werewolf, so I could no longer be afraid of myself.

I looked up, into a full moon.

The boggart, it had changed to a full moon.

Because I, Remus John Lupin, was no longer afraid of what I turned into. Now that I realized that it was not me, I could only be afraid of the thing that turned me into it.

I had conquered the werewolf.

The boggart back in its trunk, I left the common room; the deep circles in my eyes vanished. I was ready to face the world. I was ready to see my mother. I had proven my father in his werewolf phobia that he had been wrong. I had proven myself in my werewolf phobia that I had been wrong. I was ready to graduate.

The seventh years were back in their line, alphabetical order, and parents had hankies at the ready. Another graduation ceremony was about to begin. Dumbledore smiled, fondly remembering the first years who now stood before him in graduation robes. A single, small tear escaped from one blue eye.

His predictions had been correct, of course. James Potter and Sirius Black had each done great, great things. Remus Lupin had ended up happy in the sorting hat's choice. Lily Evans had turned into a swan. Peter Pettigrew had not yet particularly surprised anyone, but Dumbledore felt that the boy would only do well in the Order of the Phoenix.

The graduation ceremony was always typical to the sorting, and Dumbledore had always planned it that way.

Similarly to seven years ago, he was particularly interested in watching Remus Lupin cross the stage. A fine man, Dumbledore thought to himself. Remus was grown up, and a new person. He remembered the nervous, hollow-eyed first year, disappointed in a choice for Gryffindor. Then he looked at the confident man now crossing the stage. The dark circles had miraculously disappeared. His face no longer looked stretched. His eyes were suddenly bright.

Albus Dumbledore smiled. The boy had finally discovered himself. Dumbledore remembered that, against the wizarding world's wishes, he had offered this boy a normal education. And, for the rest of his long life, he would remember that particular decision as one of his best.

That, along with appointing James and Lily to work together. His decision had finally achieved one of its many goals, for, both students having passed across the stage, Lily was smiling as James kissed her full on the mouth.

Dumbledore placed a charm on himself so no one would see the multitude of tears streaming from his eyes. Every one of the students had done something special. Every one of them would be missed. And every one of them, he hoped, would remember Hogwarts. Hogwarts would certainly always remember them.

Author's Note: This is the last chapter before the epilogue…REVIEW!


	10. Epilogue

Chapter 10: Epilogue

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author's note: Last chapter – thanks for all your reviews. Special thanks to Silverstagbeauty – it is because of you that Sarah Emilie's POV is in this chapter. Thanks for the idea!

Enjoy.

**Chapter 10: Epilogue**

**October, 1981**

_Wormtail_

"The Potters made me Secret Keeper," I hear my voice tell the Dark Lord.

But I don't know if I want this for Lily and James. I'm scared. Why am I doing this if I'm scared? I have to. I know this is what I have to do. I need to be accepted. Twenty-one years of not being noticed and I need it now. The Dark Lord gives me what I need. The Dark Lord notices me. He is my master and I will serve him for life. I need him to tell me I am worth something. I am not the Dark Lord's sidekick – I am his servant. I am tired of being a sidekick. I am tired of being stupid. I have always wanted to be someone, and now the Dark Lord has made me someone. I am a Death Eater.

I try to justify why I am telling him that the Potters are at Godric's Hollow. I tell myself it is because he can do things for me that Lily and James cannot, but I don't know if it's true. I tell myself that he is doing things for me that my parents could not, but I don't know if it's true. "Show me the way," my master says. And I do.

When the charm breaks it shows me everything I've betrayed. I see Sirius writing the Marauder's Map. I see Remus helping me master a spell. Lily smiling after I finally disarmed someone. Baby Harry laughing and me standing aside, scared of what that tiny baby could really do. Then James. James telling Sirius to lay off making fun of me, even though Sirius was his best friend. James helping me with homework. James, one of the most powerful wizards in England, being Peter Pettigrew's friend.

The Sorting Hat echoes in my mind. _You could do well in Hufflepuff though it's hard to see where your loyalties lie…I can see that your loyalties are very easily turned._ I shake my head, trying to clear the old hat's voice from my mind. I haven't heard that voice in years, but I begin to remember it haunting my weaknesses at night. _Slytherin gives you what you already have, but Gryffindor lets you try something new._

_You've always wanted to be brave and I think if someone gave you the chance you could be proud…Perhaps I'll give you a chance on something new. You've always wanted a chance to make a new name for yourself, haven't you? Here it is. Do with it what you will. Good luck._

I stand beside Lord Voldemort in front of Godric's Hollow and its name is ironic. Godric Gryffindor's school house tried to give me a chance and the people who live at Godric's Hollow tried to give me a chance. But I was too stupid to realize that I could have taken either one of them. _We can rule out Ravenclaw as you're not very intelligent. _I realize that these people – Lily, James, Remus, Sirius – were my real friends. These people made me into someone. Remus gave me my name – Wormtail – and there was something inside it, like James, Sirius and Remus, and even Lily, made me feel like there was something inside me.

He is opening the gate. I want to tell Voldemort to turn back. These are my friends, I try to scream. But nothing comes out. _You're not incredibly brave or proud…The length you would go to defend your friends is a bit murky._ Lord Voldemort will kill me if I tell him to turn back. And even if I do the charm has already been broken. Voldemort knows where the Potters live.

I hear a terrified scream from inside the house, and cover my ears and run, coward that I am. My last chance to save Lily and James and I am gone.

I want to be a little boy. I want to be able to cry and let my mother hold me, but I know that day is over and my chance is lost. I lost everything I thought I needed but already had. If I had just looked closely enough…but now it is too late. James and Lily Potter are dead and it's my fault.

In the street, I see a familiar pair of dark brown eyes. Sirius knows. How does he know? He's going to kill me – his glare is deadly. His eyes look like those of his dog form, and I get an idea: my animagus. Sirius pulls out his wand and tries to kill me, but for once I am too quick. _You can be cunning and tricky when you want to be. _I cut my finger off to make it seem like Sirius blew me apart and transform. I can hear his voice. He's laughing, but I don't know why. "Figures," my conscious tells me. "You never know anything."

Why do I want Sirius to take the blame? Because then you don't have to take it for yourself, my conscious says again. You won't have to admit to yourself that you killed your best friends. Your best friends you thought didn't give you enough, but really they did. You were just too slow to see it. _We can rule out Ravenclaw, as you're not very intelligent._

Shut up.

First sign of madness: talking to yourself.

Now no one will give me what I need because I betrayed everyone who could.

_You have a longing to make yourself someone, but you're scared to try to find someone who can do that for you in case you find that no one can._

But there is still one. There is still the greatest sorcerer in the world who has trusted me, who has made me part of his clan. There is still Lord Voldemort.

I was wrong, as usual. I made another mistake, but this time there is no turning back.

_Sarah Emilie_

I am ten years old and my brother is dead. It is the evening of Halloween and my brother is dead. My brother is dead. This is what they just told me: "Sarah Emilie, we have some very sad news to tell you. Your brother is dead. He was murdered, by You-Know-Who." I don't know who. I don't know who killed my brother, but they think I don't understand what dead means.

Whispering to themselves, they say, "She is ten years old and her brother is dead." They shake their heads.

My brother is dead, dead. James is dead. Brother is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD. It is all I can think.

He promised me he would always protect me. James promised. But James is dead, and I know enough about dead to know that it does not keep promises.

Aunt Lily is dead, too, they say. DEAD. Lily had been good to me. She was a nice lady. Also killed by You-Know-Who. My brother is dead.

They say funny things about the man whose name they do not say, and about my brother's son (my brother is dead). They say the You-Know-Who man is dead, too. They say my brother's son stopped him. But my brother's son is a tiny, tiny baby. I've seen him before. James let me pick him up, with Lily standing next to me. My brother's son cannot stop anyone, if I can pick him up. I am only ten. The people here are crazy, saying that my brother's son can stop the You-Know-Who man.

My brother is dead, dead. James is dead. Brother is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD. It is all I can think. It is the only thing I will be able to think for the rest of my life. My brother is dead, dead. James is dead. Brother is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD.

I am scared. James cannot protect me. Lily cannot be nice to me. I am angry, because the small, weak baby who cannot protect me or be nice to me is the one alive, and my protector and the person who was nice to me are gone. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD.

People are celebrating. The sky becomes pretty with fireworks. But my brother is dead. A few people whisper together about "James and Lily Potter" and their poor baby son. "Think of what they left behind. That poor baby boy, with no parents. Who will take care of him? And all of their friends must be devastated."

But I am ten and my brother's son is only one year old. James has protected _me_ for ten years, and his baby only for one. _I_ am his little sister. I have no brother, and no Aunt Lily. Who will take care of _me_? I am forgotten. But I am too scared to think of myself. All I can think is

My brother is dead, dead. James is dead. Brother is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD. It is all I can think.

_Petunia_

The first thing I notice when I go to set out the milk bottles is a baby. A sleeping baby boy in a basket on my door step. And it isn't Dudley. The second thing I notice is the letter the baby holds in its hand. I carefully uncurl the child's fingers from the odd-looking paper and wonder why I feel a strange attachment to the unclaimed child. An odd connection runs through my fingertips, and I wonder if the little child feels the same in his sleep.

I open the letter, read the first sentence, and immediately drop it.

_This is your nephew, Harry James Potter._

Lily's boy. He was the same age as Dudley, wasn't he? I read on, curious, but wary, knowing this boy, the child of my witch sister and her wizard husband, will most likely have the same powers.

_This is your nephew, Harry James Potter. His parents, your sister and her husband, were murdered tonight. In Muggle terms, you could call it 'blown up'. Harry had an attempted murder performed on him. The curse backfired on the murderer – you will notice the lightning bolt shaped-scar on the boy's forehead. I leave the child in your charge. He will be safest with you, as you are his only living blood relative, whether you choose to acknowledge this or not. If you choose not to care for your own blood nephew, Harry Potter will die._

My sister is dead. Tears involuntarily slipping from my pale eyes, I stare at the letter, then at the baby, then at the words "Harry Potter will die," then back at my nephew and his scar. Remembering the connection I felt, I touch Harry's forehead, and the feeling is still there. I move my finger to the scar on his forehead, which burns under my finger. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not," my mind repeats.

I remember Lily calling me Tuna and our parents paying more attention to her than to me. My fingers stiffen on the child. His eyes flutter open and Lily's stare back at me. Her spirit is in those eyes. I remember being jealous that she could do magic and I could not, that she was pretty and I wasn't, that she wasn't a worry-wart, or a clean-freak, and I was. I remember her heart. She had never really said anything mean to me. But I had to her. Oh, I had said mean things to her. Because I was jealous. Because I wouldn't admit that I loved someone who could do things I could not. But Lily had loved me full-heartedly. Someone said once, when they didn't know I was listening, but I can't remember who, "Lily can see beauty in people even if, and especially when, that person cannot see it in themselves."

I am still crying.

I will do this for Lily. "If you choose not to care for your own blood nephew, Harry Potter will die." I will do this for my sister. I will show her I really did love her, even if I was too scared of her to admit it. I will show her that I'm sorry. I will save her child. I pick up Lily's baby, my nephew, vowing to look after him.

But I a falter a bit, remembering my parents paying more attention to Lily because she could do magic and I could not, and my mother telling me to learn from my parents' mistakes. I would not pay more attention to this baby more than my own son. I know that feeling unwanted is a horrible feeling. I will care for Harry Potter, yes. I will save his life. For Lily. For my sister. I will finally do something for her, even though it's probably too late. I know she needs me to do this. I will let her child live with me.

But I will never make my own son feel unwanted.

A/N: That's the end. Thanks, guys!!

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